#sherlock gt

[borrowedtimeandspace]

The Looming Doctor

5. Caught

From this list of gt prompts.

AU: Unknown BAU; Pocketlock

~~~

Sherlock’s ears perked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, yanking him out of his reverie. He dropped the food in his hands in shock. The human was right outside, and there was no mistaking that limping gait. How had Sherlock not noticed earlier?!

Faster than Sherlock could ever hope to be, the human stepped into the kitchen in time for the tiny man to shoot to his feet.

Doctor John Watson spotted him right away, and he and Sherlock froze. 

Silent.

Staring at each other.

Sherlock snapped out of it first, heart pounding as he sprinted for the edge of the table.

“He-hey! Wait!” John cried. Sherlock flinched as the human’s voice bombarded the silence of the room and rumbled through Sherlock’s very being. Then the table beneath his running feet began to shake, and Sherlock threw a glance over his shoulder to find John coming closer, his free hand raised placatingly.

All Sherlock saw was hands. Dangerous appendages built for grabbing, lifting, crushing– the most unpredictable part of the human body. Sherlock was decidedly against having anything to do with them and, in his panic, did the only thing he could think to do.

He concentrated, and everything around him fell slightly out of focus. All noises were muffled far into the background, and when he looked back at John, he was moving so slowly that he might as well be still.

Sherlock let out a relieved breath, but kept going, knowing this wouldn’t last long.

Ever since Sherlock was a teenager, he’d noticed a tingle on the back of his neck in certain situations. Dangerous ones, in which it was likely that he’d end up in some kind of trouble. And he found that when he concentrated on it, everything and everyone around him slowed down significantly. 

For just a moment, Sherlock was faster than the entire world.

The catch was, if Sherlock kept this up for too long, he would tire. Growing up training himself to control this ability, he often worked himself into pounding headaches and intense nose-bleeds. He counted it worth it now that years later, he was able to slow time around him on command.

As swiftly as he could, Sherlock snagged the thread on the edge of the table and slid all the way down to the floor. He retrieved his hook and gathered the line before ducking behind the leg of a chair and returning himself to the natural flow of time. Here he could catch his breath and recover his energy.

High above, John sucked in a gasp. Sherlock side-eyed the man’s feet as they shuffled indecisively. Then they and the cane circled around the table in their stilted pace until they carried John to the space between the table and the counter, and Sherlock cursed under his breath. John had cut off his quickest exit. Sherlock couldn’t risk passing so close to the human. He needed a new route.

Sherlock’s eyes darted to a hole in the wall across the room, adjacent to a loosened outlet under a smaller table. 

Just as the human bent to peer under the table to see where Sherlock had gone, the borrower slowed him down again and dashed to the far leg of the table on the diagonal from his previous hiding spot. There he took refuge again, taking a breather from using his ability. Not only were these sprints wearing him out, but it had been ages since he’d used his knack this much. The all-too-familiar fatigue of overuse was creeping up on him.

John Watson had no such impediment. A glance back revealed the doctor straightening in surprise, rising out of Sherlock’s line of sight. This time, John’s approach around the table was much more swift, and Sherlock had no choice but to make a run for the exit without the aid of his ability.

A shadow fell over Sherlock, and he had just enough time to see the mug before it dropped on top of him and trapped him in darkness.

Even with his limp, John was much faster than Sherlock could hope to be on his own.

~~~

John sat frozen on the floor, in utter shock.

The last thing he’d expected when he came home to grab a quick lunch was a miniature man standing on a plate of scones. He could hardly believe his eyes, especially when the little being fell out of focus and became a speedy blur zooming over the edge of the table.

A shot of adrenaline coursed through John, driving him forward to find where the creature had gone. He had no ill will toward whatever it was, but he was too curious to let it get away.

This is what drove him to trap the little guy, but now that he was there, staring at his mug, he had no clue what to do.

It took him a second to realize he was being shouted at.

John could hear light taps against the porcelain of the mug in between muffled outbursts. He leaned in to listen.

“I’m talking to you!” the tiniest baritone echoed slightly in the small space. “I know you’re out there, I demand to be released!”

John stiffened, finally starting to think about all this from the smaller man’s perspective. Chased and trapped by a person several times larger than himself, with no means of escape even with that hat trick of his. To this little fellow, John was hardly more than a giant in his way.

John had always been average height, oftentimes shorter than others. Never once had he ever felt so ridiculously large, frightening, dangerous.

He was already feeling guilty for what he’d done, reaching toward the mug to free the tiny man when his voice rang out again, freezing up John’s hand.

“Answer me, damn you!” Another dull tap against the side of the mug, possibly a kick. John opened his mouth to say something as per the man’s request, but nothing came.

The quietest sigh strained the edges of John’s hearing, and the tiny man sounded a little more dejected when he spoke up again.

“Or at the very least, you could hurry up and get the dissection over with. I’d say the suspense is killing me, but that would be redundant, now wouldn’t–!”

Sherlock’s remark was cut short as John lifted the mug away without warning. He winced in the sudden light and, thanks to the way he’d been leaning on the wall of the mug, tumbled onto his back. When he looked up at John’s hovering face, he found it ashen and full of shock.

“You think I…” John blinked rapidly at the tiny man on his back on the floor, lifting one arm to shield his eyes and feebly defend himself against John. “I...I’d never...” His insistent protest trailed off as the thought of dissecting a living person, no matter how small, turned his stomach. It was a disturbing notion, downright cruel, and John felt terrible for giving this stranger the impression that he’d do such a thing.

He must’ve looked like a monster, crouched on the floor over the smaller man like a predator cornering its prey.

John shook his head numbly, grabbing his discarded cane for support as he pushed himself to his feet. While he still hated towering over Sherlock, he couldn’t keep the man where he clearly didn’t want to be.

“I’m sorry,” John breathed, putting the mug down on the table. He took the long way around to the door out of the kitchen and left without looking back.

~~~

Sherlock remained on the floor for another minute or two after John left. Scrambling to his feet, he stared at the door and waited for the human to come back and catch him again.

But he didn’t.

With a huff, Sherlock combed his fingers through his mess of curls and straightened his clothes importantly as he made his way to the nearby hole in the wall. The sooner he was out of sight in his hidden home, the sooner he could think long and hard about what had just happened.

This human already had the advantage of being over a dozen times bigger and stronger than himself, how dare he be confusing on top of that!

[brothersapart]

how would Sherlock and John react to Oscar in the AU Lounge?

Like all who come across Oscar, particularly baby Oscar, they'd adopt in their own ways. Brothers Consulted John in particular has yet to meet smol kids when they first arrive in the Lounge, so he'd just be a puddle for Oscar. Too smol and precious for this world.

Sherlock, as we've seen, has his own way with kiddos and bonding with them. Oscar is no exception.

~~~

"You've come to keep me company," Sherlock reiterated, mulling over the concept and wondering just what kind of company Oscar normally kept.

And of course, he worked his thoughts out aloud.

"Why me? You must belong with someone. Hardly anyone is in here without being involved with those Winchesters. So, which of them is it? No, no, I can get this."

Tearing his eyes away from his careful watch over the smallest child, Sherlock let them sweep over the crowd once again to scrutinize all the different iterations of Sam and Dean Winchester. The sound of his triumph came out as a sort of dry chuckle as he turned back to Oscar.

"It's the younger pair you're with, isn't it." Despite framing it as a question, Sherlock was confident in his simple deduction. It did seem fairly obvious since they were the only ones remotely close to Oscar's age, which was admittedly hard to gauge exactly given the size discrepancy.

[borrowedtimeandspace]

The Secret Flatmate

3. Impulsive

From this list of gt prompts.

AU: Unknown BAU

Note: Two prompts in one day??? Yep! ^^ this prompt and a few others have given me a bit of an excuse to actually post some things that have been floating around in my WIPs for a good while now. Enjoy some bonus pocketlock!

~~~

John Watson was a creature of habit. That was to the advantage of one Sherlock Holmes, who carefully watched the man from the safety of the walls.

221B Baker Street was an odd place for someone less than four inches tall to hang their hat– or long wool coat in Sherlock’s case– but Sherlock loved it. He’d been a drifter for quite some time, always shifting around London. One thing Sherlock had never been able to do was sit still.

Until he stumbled upon this humble flat in Central London. At first glance it didn’t seem like much; the most interesting thing about Mrs. Hudson the landlady who lived on the ground floor was that she was apparently married to a drug lord, and he wasn’t even in England anymore. Bored, he decided to explore the flat one floor up. From the second he saw it– with its kitschy wallpaper, rubbish carpet and mismatched armchairs– he was enamored. How he ached to be able to live in 221B Baker Street properly, like a human.

And then he remembered he was human. At least he used to be. He’d given up on wishing for his old life back ages ago. Things would never go back to the way they were.

He ended up settling for the next best thing. After a few weeks of absconding with food and supplies from Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock considered himself fully moved into 221B. It was empty, but someone would rent it out eventually, and then he could live off them.

Sure enough, John Watson moved in, and he was at least a little more interesting than the landlady. 

Sherlock had a hobby in childhood that became an instinct as an adult. Extraordinarily observant, he could pick apart even the most minute of details in a person-- their clothing, their posture, even their accessories-- and from them glean an understanding about their life. This was all the easier when observing human beings, whose relatively massive statures rendered all those details plain as day to Sherlock.

While peeking in on his first conversation with her, Sherlock observed that the man was ex-military, wounded abroad if his limp and tan were any indication. Just returned from either Afghanistan or Iraq (confirmed later to be the former) and clearly hadn’t found a job yet. There was no way he could afford rent in Central London on Army pension alone, so it stood to reason that he must be getting help. Perhaps a loan, or a bit of aid from a family member. Taking a wild guess on a hunch after a closer look at the human’s mobile phone, Sherlock thought John’s brother might have lent him a little. Judging by the other things Sherlock deduced about the brother’s failed marriage and drinking habit, it wasn’t the easiest thing for John to reach out to him.

John took the flat– Sherlock’s flat– right away, and the smaller man kept a watchful eye on the new human. It took John a while to find a steady job, solidifying a schedule for Sherlock to take advantage of. He fell into his own habits, patterns of going through his flatmate’s things to learn more about him. It didn’t take him more than a week to learn about John’s career as a doctor, his shoulder wound that got him discharged, and the psychosomatic limp and tremor that came out of that.

This was a man lost in his own world, his own thoughts and nightmares, especially in the comfort of his own home. A perfect human for someone trying to avoid detection.

Or so Sherlock thought.

A few months after the doctor moved in, Sherlock was raiding the cupboards for enough to last him the week. John had long since gone to work, so the flat was quiet and peaceful.

Sherlock took full advantage of Dr. Watson’s recent grocery run, snitching a little from each freshly opened box and package. It was almost boring, how easy pickings were that day. He decided to climb down to the counter, make the rounds of the kitchen before heading back to his hidden home.

No sooner had he emerged from the cupboard sliding smoothly down his hook and line, than the smell hit him. Dark curls whipped around as Sherlock followed the scent to the table in the middle of the room where a plate of homemade scones sat. Sherlock’s stomach clenched with longing; it was around lunchtime and, while the bits of cracker and cereal and dried fruit in his bag made for a successful haul, it had been ages since he’d had the chance at a proper scone.

He longed for the days when he could hold one in hand and carry it along his merry way as he ate.

As it was, no one was home and the plate was hardly touched. Sherlock reasoned that it’d be a shame to let them go to waste, landing efficiently on the counter and giving his line a pointed flick to disengage the paper clip he’d twisted into a hook. The second he caught it, he was on the move to dig it into the edge of the counter. From there, it was a short jog along the floor, a sharp toss of his hook, and a quick shimmy up the dark thread.

The smell was even stronger on the table surface. Sherlock usually exhibited a lot of self control when it came to what he ate, whether it be out of necessity due to a shortage of pickings or a voluntary fast to aid his brainwork. But for some reason, this scone was different. Maybe it was the sheer nostalgia of the treat or the rare opportunity for something fresh, but there was absolutely no hesitation in his step as he made a beeline for the plate. 

He had to give Mrs. Hudson credit: her scones were heavenly. The pastry crumbled easily enough and melted in his mouth, interspersed with the sweetness of the fruit that had been baked into the dough. For once, his ever-running mind stood still for a moment, drawing him back to childhood.

Shoving his older brother aside to snag two handfuls of scones before school in the morning.

Opening his eyes to regard the crumbs in his hands, Sherlock forced himself to push those memories away. That family was lost to him forever, and he would never get that life back.

Not while he was under four inches tall.

[borrowedtimeandspace]

The Battle of Wits

13. Banter

From this list of gt prompts.

AU: Unknown BAU; pocketlock

~~~

Sherlock spent the next few days observing John Watson from a distance. Excursions for food and supplies were limited to the dead of night, long after the human had gone to sleep. During the day, the flat was silent. Sherlock spent his time thinking, either completely motionless or pacing restlessly whilst talking to a small rodent skull tucked in the corner of his main room, for hours on end in each case.

John returned to the flat from work in the evenings during the week, and Sherlock watched his every move from various hiding places and holes in the walls. Days passed, and not once did the doctor go looking for the borrower he’d caught.

Caught and released, Sherlock pondered, still struggling to understand that decision. John had Sherlock at his mercy. Completely trapped. He didn’t have to listen to Sherlock at all; Sherlock suspected at first that he was being predictably ignored by the human.

Then again, if John was listening to him, why had he taken so long to respond?

Questions like that haunted Sherlock, and he regretted being unable to get a read on John’s reactions until the very end. He needed to connect the dots, and by the end of the week he was through with his current method of doing so. He couldn’t just stare at John from hiding and expect answers to come. 

~~~

John made a point of sleeping in on his days off. He was decidedly not a morning person, barely functional before he got some caffeine in his system.

Even after he’d had his tea and made his breakfast, he didn’t notice the tiny figure standing on the top shelf in the kitchen.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the doctor as he milled about the kitchen below, heavily relying on his cane. He stood at the very edge of the highest point in the room, stiff as a board with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. If John had thought to look up, there’d be no missing Sherlock. But he didn’t, and Sherlock was left watching John move to distract himself from how exposed he was up there.

Specifically, he watched how John behaved with his cane. He seemed to need it when he walked, leaning it against his hip when he needed his hands free while standing. Once John got into what he was doing, however, he seemed to forget about it, standing almost freely. Sherlock absently recalled a moment during the chase earlier in the week. 

John hurrying around the table to catch up to Sherlock almost completely without the aid of his cane. The implement clattering to the floor as he crouched over Sherlock.

Sherlock had already discovered that John's limp was psychosomatic, no surprise there. What piqued his interest this time was the fact that it was no mindless menial task that caused John to forget about it that time. It was a chase. 

Interesting.

After that observation, it became clear that John wasn’t going to notice him. Sherlock’s plan to test how John would react to seeing the smaller man a second time would clearly have to be postponed. Sherlock turned to leave with a huff, storming off to wait a few hours to try again.

Back in the kitchen, John’s ears perked up. Such small sounds as the frustrated breath caught John’s attention more easily after his encounter the other day. For a second, John thought it was the same person he’d found, but he seriously doubted it. He hardly expected the man to stick around after John chased him and trapped him. That was the entire reason why whenever something caught John’s attention, and quite a few things did recently, he never responded. Never looked, never spoke, never investigated.

For all he knew, he was simply hearing things.

~~~

John noticed Sherlock later on that night. He was shuffling around the main room in search of the television remote, and his gaze happened to sweep around the room once he found it.

Then he saw the tiny shape standing on the edge of an empty bookshelf, as tall as a man under four inches in height could manage to make himself.

John froze, and was surprised to find the man standing his ground. He expected that if he ever laid eyes on the little fellow again, it would be short-lived. Surely he’d run away the second John saw him.

Yet there he was, in what appeared to be a long wool coat, arms crossed and staring intently back at John.

At first, John hadn’t a clue what to do. He had no idea why Sherlock was still around after the other day, and couldn’t imagine why he was there watching him.

John decided to carry on with his planned evening of vegging in front of the telly. If the little fellow wasn’t going to do anything, then it must be best if John didn’t make an advance. He wasn’t trying to chase him off, after all.

Sherlock’s brow furrowed as he stared down at the doctor, who collected a laptop and settled himself comfortably in an armchair. After the prolonged, unmistakable eye contact with the human, Sherlock had been prepared for nearly any reaction.

Of course it was entirely possible the human would do nothing, but many Sherlock’s size would consider it less than likely.

With the human’s eyes off him, Sherlock’s shoulders slumped of their own accord. He knew better than to let his guard down just yet, however. Just because Dr. Watson was showing restraint now didn’t mean he would keep it up. A curious human might lose patience if the temptation remained.

So Sherlock pointedly made himself comfortable, pushing back his coat with his usual dramatic flair as he sat down at the edge of the shelf. The movement was caught in the corner of John’s eye, causing the man to glance up and lift his brow in surprise and confusion. Sherlock scowled right back, and John’s gaze slid away. He simply opened his laptop and opened up his browser.

It was almost a battle of wits at this point, in Sherlock’s mind. Some silent back-and-forth between the two men to see which gave in first.

For about an hour this continued, John occasionally glancing up to see if Sherlock was still there, and Sherlock doing his best to stay on task and not get sucked into whatever was on the TV. John didn’t seem overly invested, perhaps using the telly as white noise as he attempted to do something on his computer. ‘Attempted’ being the operative word, as he seemed to have a blank page pulled up to apparently stare at in quiet contemplation. 

Sherlock quickly grew bored of watching John not type, and couldn’t help getting twitchy when the idiots on screen came to all the wrong conclusions.

“No, no, NO!” Sherlock found himself shouting in frustration. “Look at the--!”

He stopped short and tensed up all over again, gaze falling on John who was properly staring this time. Sherlock shuffled to his feet, prepared to make a run for it in case he’d finally piqued John’s interest in earnest. 

When John still remained seated, Sherlock decided he might have taken this too far for the moment. He clenched his jaw, gave his coat a brushdown with a bit of unnecessary flair, and turned on his heel to vanish toward the back of the shelf. Not running away, but definitely walking off.

John was left dumbfounded, unsure of how to handle any of this.

[borrowedtimeandspace]

From this list of uncommon OC questions.

1. What is the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

I give him three days, tops, and that’s generous. He’s a very action-oriented person, always needs to busy himself somehow. Poor Nathan would have a very anxious Stan bugging him for something to do, he’s fallen down too many YouTube rabbit holes and is going a little nuts.

4. How easy is it to earn their trust?

Stan’s optimistic and likes to hope for the best in people, but he’s also good at reading them. The second he senses ill intent in someone, it’ll take a lot of proof to win trust back.

11. How do they cope with confusion? (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc.)

Stan is not ashamed to ask questions when he doesn’t understand something. Only if a situation were short on time would he skip the crash course and just roll with what he knows and sees.

12. How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

Begs Nate to scratch it or finds anything remotely resembling a backscratcher.

18. What embarrasses them?

His own shortcomings, mostly. He’s highly critical of himself, but he keeps a lot of that inside. When he does make a mistake, he’ll go through self-flagellation before reverting to humor and eventually moving on with his life. Depends on the mistake.

Of course, Nathan can always find a way to make him turn bright red.

A. Why are you excited about this character?

Of the characters I’ve built over the years I’ve been writing, Stan is the only one that has taken me completely by surprise. I didn’t plan him as more than a passing character, yet he emerged. I continue to learn about him as I go, whereas with my other characters I carefully plan out their backstories beforehand. It’s an interesting experience, to be sure, and I can’t wait to see where he takes me.

Thanks again to @nightmares06 for asking and waiting patiently for my answer!

Feel free to send me more questions from this list if you’re curious about my OCs

[brothersapart]

June 14th excerpt:

John gave a light groan, feeling a kink in his neck coming on as he lifted his head a bit to blink the blurriness from his eyes and focus on the figures standing by the books.

"Hey," he whispered as he rubbed at his eyes. He glanced at his watch, then offered a tired but warm smile. "Bit early to be up. Everything okay?"

He kept his tone light and conversational, not wanting either of them to feel put on the spot. John wasn't interrogating them, just checking up in case they needed something.

[brothersapart]

Brothers Consulted

Series cowritten by the lovely @borrowedtimeandspace​

The Study of the Four

Saving people, solving crimes The flatmate business

Over a decade ago, a serious of unfortunate events led to the Winchesters, at only a few inches in height, being forcibly relocated to London. Now, they’ve adjusted to their size and found a new home to live in that just happens to be the same residence of a certain detective and his blogger…

Archive of Our Own || Fanfiction || Deviantart

[brothersapart]

After coming to terms with the existence of witches and magic, and fuming over the attack on John, Sherlock would research his brains out trying to find a way to fix his flatmate.

In the meantime, their relationship would remain the same. Sherlock would see no reason to treat John any differently just because he changed sizes, though his protective side will certainly show. John will be safe, and the most he’ll have to worry about is how portable he is now. Sherlock can and would easily pluck up his tiny doctor and carry him along wherever he’s going. Poor John might have to fight for a bit of independence, but that’s about it.

And John will definitely find some creative way to defend himself, just in case he and Sherlock are separated.